In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Thorin stood frozen for a moment, staring at the secret door that Sylas had effortlessly opened with a single spell. He couldn't quite decide whether to be thrilled the entrance had finally revealed itself… or to feel a creeping insecurity that the Dwarves' intricate craftsmanship had been undone by a spell.

Still, the door was open. That was what mattered. No one lingered. One by one, the company stepped into the narrow passageway carved into the side of the Lonely Mountain.

The halls were cold and dark. Time had not been kind to the Dwarves' ancestral home. They passed crumbled stonework and ancient Dwarvish runes barely visible in the gloom. Though the vast halls had been hewn from the mountain's belly, Smaug dwelled far from the back door, in the great chamber near the main gate, so their current path was likely safe for now.

Thorin, Balin, and the older Dwarves moved with quiet familiarity, guiding the others through the winding passages. Every turn, every stairwell had once been part of their lives. But now… only ghosts remained.

They paused briefly in a hidden room tucked away behind thick stone walls. Dust hung in the air. Here, they would not be easily detected, but one wrong step closer and the Dragon's keen senses might awaken. Smaug was ancient, but not deaf.

Scattered along the hallways they'd passed were the skeletal remains of long-fallen Dwarves, those who hadn't escaped when Smaug descended upon Erebor. The sight chilled the heart and steeled their resolve.

Within the room, all eyes turned to Bilbo.

Of course it would fall to him.

If anyone were to slip past Smaug's attention, it would have to be "the burglar." If he could retrieve the Arkenstone, they could avoid direct confrontation. Thorin could rally the Seven Houses with it, reclaim his throne, and restore Erebor without ever drawing the dragon's fury.

Thorin stepped toward Bilbo, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. His grip lingered.

"It's in your hands now," he said, his eyes shining with intensity. "You'll bring back the Arkenstone, won't you?"

Bilbo hesitated under the weight of that gaze, turning his head uneasily.

"I'll… I'll try," he replied, his voice soft.

But Thorin's grip only tightened.

"Not try. You must bring it back. Do you understand? You must."

His tone had sharpened. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, an edge of desperation and something darker. Obsession.

That was when Sylas stepped forward.

With a casual flick of his wand, he sent Thorin skidding across the chamber, away from Bilbo, with all the ease of brushing away a fly.

The room fell silent.

Sylas stepped in front of Bilbo protectively, his expression calm but ice-cold.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said, his voice echoing in the stone chamber, "Bilbo is not your servant. He is not some tool to wield at your whim. Show him the respect he deserves."

Gandalf stepped in beside Sylas, frowning deeply at Thorin.

"You need to regain your senses," the wizard said, his voice laden with disappointment. "Look at yourself. You're no longer the leader who set out from the Blue Mountains. Every step closer to this mountain, and the dragon-sickness tightens its grip on your soul."

He sighed, weary.

"Perhaps… it was a mistake bringing you here. Durin's madness lives on in your blood. And it's beginning to wake."

"No," Thorin snapped, his eyes blazing. "I have never seen things more clearly! Nothing matters more than the Arkenstone. With it, I can reclaim Erebor, my mountain, my treasure!"

"Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said gravely, his tone low and heavy, "these are not the things that truly matter. Look around you. Your friends, your kin, they are your treasure. They are your legacy. Don't let greed blind your heart."

For a fleeting moment, Thorin's eyes flicked toward his companions. Balin, Dwalin, Kíli, Fíli, they all watched him with furrowed brows, concern etched across their weathered faces.

But the flicker faded.

His jaw clenched, and his voice turned cold. "No. They are nothing."

"You've lost your mind…" Gandalf murmured, more heartbroken than angry now.

Sylas stepped beside the wizard, arms folded.

"He's not going to listen," Sylas said calmly. "The closer he gets to the mountain's hoard, the deeper the dragon-sickness takes root. If it gets worse, we might have to knock him out and drag him away. Perhaps distance from the treasure will restore his reason."

"I said, stop arguing!" Bilbo's voice rang out across the chamber.

All eyes turned to the hobbit.

Bilbo took a breath and stood up straighter, though his knees trembled just slightly. "Look… if getting the Arkenstone is what it takes to fix all this, then I'll go get it. Alright?"

He looked at them with an almost childlike innocence. "If Thorin has the Arkenstone, he can rally the other Dwarves. Gandalf's mission, Sylas's mission… even my job will be done. And then I can finally go home."

A long silence fell. Even Thorin seemed momentarily still.

"So…" Bilbo looked around, his expression sincere. "Just trust me. This once?"

Sylas stared at him, something soft flickering behind his eyes. He crouched down, meeting Bilbo's gaze at eye level.

"Bilbo… are you absolutely sure about this?"

Bilbo gave a firm nod.

"Alright then," Sylas said, rising. "If you're going, I'm giving you every bit of help I can."

He drew his wand and began casting silently.

Layer after layer of magical protection wrapped around Bilbo like an invisible cloak. The hobbit blinked, suddenly feeling several degrees heavier.

"And take this," Sylas added, pulling a small potted Mandrake from his enchanted satchel. "If you run into Smaug, toss it at him. It's been enchanted so you won't hear its scream, but he will. Trust me, it'll buy you enough time to run."

Bilbo stared at the odd-looking plant, then nodded.

"And if it really turns into a disaster," Sylas continued, pressing a gleaming gold coin into his hand, "just tap this. I'll know instantly, and we'll be right behind you."

Bilbo looked at the coin, the Mandrake, and the towering wizard in front of him.

Then, without another word, he stepped forward and hugged Sylas tightly around the waist.

"I understand, Sylas. Thank you!" Bilbo said earnestly.

Sylas gently patted him on the back.

"Just promise me one thing," he said. "Don't take unnecessary risks. If the stone is out of reach, leave it. Your safety comes first, alright?"

Bilbo nodded quickly, eyes wide with determination.

Only then did Sylas let him go.

Gandalf watched them with a warm glint in his eyes. He chuckled and placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Sylas has done everything he can," the wizard said kindly. "Now all I can offer is a blessing. Bilbo Baggins, may the Valar watch over you."

To the rest of the company, it sounded like an old-fashioned farewell. But Sylas felt it, an unseen power descending gently over Bilbo like a cloak of divine protection.

With everyone's silent hopes behind him, Bilbo stepped out of the hidden chamber and began his quiet journey toward the Dragon's lair.

Just before he vanished around the corner, Sylas raised his wand once more and cast an additional Disillusionment Charm. The shimmer of magic rippled across Bilbo's small frame, bending the light around him. It wasn't perfect, not against a Dragon's eyes, but it was another layer of defense, and every bit counted.

After Bilbo left, the chamber fell into a heavy silence. The Dwarves sat tensely, fidgeting with their gear or staring at the floor. None more restless than Thorin.

As the minutes passed, impatience began to gnaw at him. At last, he turned to Sylas with sharp eyes.

"You have the Palantír, don't you?" he said. "Can't it show you where Bilbo is now? Or… has he just cowered in some corner? Hiding instead of doing what we sent him to do?"

Sylas didn't even blink.

"Or better yet," Thorin went on, "why don't you just scry for the Arkenstone's location directly? If we know where it is, we can go fetch it ourselves!"

Sylas's gaze darkened. His voice turned icy.

"Did you already forget what Gandalf said? If I use the Palantír now, I might reveal Bilbo, or all of us, to the Dragon. If you want to die, Thorin Oakenshield, don't drag the rest of us with you."

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but Sylas didn't stop.

"And Bilbo," he continued, voice rising slightly, "is a brave Hobbit. He's out there risking his life, for your obsession. The least you could do is show some gratitude. If you have so little faith in him, then get up and go after the Arkenstone yourself!"

He stepped forward, wand still in hand, the fury in his voice startling even the other Dwarves.

Sylas had no sympathy left for what Thorin had become. The Dragon Sickness had sunk its claws deep. It wasn't just the gold or the stone, , it was Thorin's own pride, twisted into madness.

Before anyone could speak again, a thunderous roar shook the mountain.

The cry of a Dragon.

It echoed through the halls like an avalanche, rattling the stone walls and sending shivers down every spine.

The company jumped to their feet, staring toward the corridor that led to the treasury.